


at the hour of our death

by from a forgotten time (retweet_this)



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: AND SO DID MOOCH FUCK YEA, DAMN REINCE GOT FIRED FUCK YEA, Dramatization of Real Events, Enemies to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, M/M, i seem to have tapped into some witchcraft, when are they getting fired is my question
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:57:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retweet_this/pseuds/from%20a%20forgotten%20time
Summary: If he’s going to get fucked by him, he might as well getfuckedby him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't, please read [this New Yorker article](http://www.newyorker.com/news/ryan-lizza/anthony-scaramucci-called-me-to-unload-about-white-house-leakers-reince-priebus-and-steve-bannon) where Mooch says some of the best things ever.

He only finds out about it because he’s at the White House that night. If he hadn’t been there, there would’ve been no way for him to have known what was happening. But he’s there when Steve opens the door to his office, skipping all preamble and jumping straight to the point: “They’re gonna be bringing in Scaramucci.”

Reince drops his pen and his mouth hangs open. “No,” he says. “No, no, _no_. No.” He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “What – what position do they want to bring him in for? Please tell me it’s not coms director.”

Steve scoffs in response, tongue clicking disappointedly. “You know what this is, right?” He falls into his chair, kept in the corner, just for him, by the TVs. “This is a soft firing. He’s coming in here to replace you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Reince snaps, and he quickly bites his tongue. No, no, he can’t go alienating the only person in the West Wing who still trusts him. He tries to take a deep breath but it sticks in his throat. “Okay, when he came by a couple of weeks ago, you talked to him, right? Did he sound like he was exclusively interested in being Communications Director?”

“Oh my god, Reince,” Steve sighs, “you _really_ think he’s interested in being public liaison or whatever bullshit job you stopped him from getting last time?” He shakes his head. “No, coms director is a much bigger catch and even bigger than that is, well…” he gestures vaguely around the office.

A pit grows in Reince’s stomach. He feels like he’s going to vomit. His breath comes out messy and unrefined as he says, “Okay. Um… okay.” He opens his mouth again but Steve cuts him off.

“I’m going to talk to Cuckner’s aides,” he says, ignoring him when he tries to interject, _you should really stop calling him that_ , “and you go talk to Hope. One of us should be able to get to the President before he goes to the residence.”

“Okay,” Reince says again. He’s long since accepted who he is in this relationship – hell, even in the West Wing – and there’s no way in hell he’s letting Mooch – _Scaramucci_ – get this job. He follows Steve out and heads straight for Hope’s office and thank God, she’s there, sitting behind her desk with her phone in hand and her legs folded under her.

He knocks on the open door as he enters and he barely opens his mouth when she says, “Nope.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Reince counters. He tries to sound as commanding and demanding as he can, leaning over the desk with his knuckles on the wood.

Hope doesn’t even look up. “I know what you were going to say,” she says, “and the answer is no. The President doesn’t want to discuss this matter. His decision is final.”

“No decision has been made yet – he doesn’t have to go back on anything.” Oh, fuck, he’s just started talking and already his voice is taking on a pitchy tone. He clears his throat again. “Hope, all I want is five minutes –”

She raises her hand and gives him a look, stern and steely, and her voice is icy as she says, “We are done talking about this, Reince.”

If he had some shame left, he would’ve been ashamed at how readily he backs down, slowly leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, there should be something else he can do. Maybe Steve got somewhere with one of Jared’s –

He doesn’t even finish the thought when he hears Steve’s distinctive voice scream, “You tell your cuck of a boss that Mooch, that Italian son of a bitch, is gonna get a job over my dead body, you fucking hear me?”

 _Oh good_ , Reince thinks. Looks like things are going great on both their sides. He’s slowly wandering back to his office – fuck, how long is it going to be _his_ office for, anyway? – when it occurs to him that he should probably be checking in on Sean. After all, this is going to affect him the most, isn’t it?

The door is closed and he knocks before he enters, waiting for Sean to call out a tired, “Yeah, come in,” as he steps inside. “Hey, Sean, um…”

“I heard,” Sean snaps. He’s leaning on his elbows, hands folded around what’s easily recognizable as a rosary. “Steve isn’t a quiet guy, and that’s a fucking understatement.”

“No kidding.” Reince watches him for a couple of seconds, as his eyes drift shut and his voice drops to a barely-there whisper. He takes a seat across from him and makes the sign of the cross. “Start over,” he says when Sean lifts his head.

He raises a brow. “You’re – you’re not Catholic.”

“My god seems to have abandoned me,” Reince sighs. “Maybe your god will treat me better.”

Sean’s laugh rings hollow and cold and it brings a chill to Reince’s spine. “Good luck with that,” he says. “I think my god has forsaken me too.” He doesn’t stop him from taking his hands, holding the rosary with him.

Sean starts from the very beginning and Reince lets the words wash over him, but it’s not until he hears, “deliver us from evil,” that he sees the image of Mooch – _Scaramucci, dammit_ – standing over him, grinning that stupid grin as he kicks him out of his job.

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping it’ll help him pray harder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the President tells him to meet with Scaramucci – aw, fuck it, might as well call him _Mooch_ now – early that morning, Reince knows it isn’t a request. That this is just an opportunity for Mooch to see what he’s up against, and for Reince to know that his days of being in this administration are clearly numbered.

He’s going to take it in stride, though. If being around Trump for this long has taught him anything, it’s that you don’t count out the underdog until the battle is over. And he’s not going down without a fight. No way is he leaving before the year is up.

Mooch comes in while Reince is checking his email and it quickly catches him off-guard because fuck, he was supposed to make him wait for a couple of minutes outside and then bring him like some sort of powerplay. He walks over to him, classic grin on as he holds out his hand.

“Prancer, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal,” he hums, “it is _so_ good to be working with you.” And the look on his face makes it one hundred percent clear that he knows how Reince feels about this. The door is still open a crack, enough so that if anyone says anything ‘unseemly’, it’ll be leaked immediately.

So he stands up, barely an inch taller than him, and he takes his hand with an equal smile. “It’s great to see you too, Mooch,” he says in a measured tone.

Mooch’s smile doesn’t waver but his grip tightens, so Reince’s tightens in return, and they keep shaking. Reince grits his teeth. “I hope,” he says, slowly, “that we can work well together in serving our country and our President.”

“I think we can,” Mooch replies. “For as long as you’re holding this job.”

“Don’t you mean for as long as _we’re_ holding this job?”

“I know what I said.”

Reince wants to punch the smirk off his face, that fucking bastard. He drops his hand and shoves it in his pocket, glaring daggers that he hopes are driving right into his soul. “I suppose I should formally introduce you to the staff, shouldn’t I?” He steps out and locks eyes with the first aide he sees. “Hey, Julia, can you gather up the coms staff? We’re announcing a personnel change.”

Julia looks understandably confused, as this isn’t her job, but she nods anyway and walks off as Mooch brushes past him and out into the hallway. “I think I should probably get settled into my office for a bit, before the meeting.”

Reince nods and he watches Mooch take a step away, before spinning around on his heel and adding, “I’ll see you in a few, Princess Penis.” And dear God, that fucking bastard smirks and _winks_. He winks, he fucking _winks,_ oh god, Reince is going to kill someone.

He slams the door shut.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sean tells him through a text that he’s resigning, and Reince drops everything he’s doing (admittedly, not much, because everyone always bypasses him and goes to someone else) and runs to his office just as Sean is about to exit.

“What the hell?” he says, plainly. “What the _hell_ are you doing, Sean?”

“I am doing what is best for this administration,” Sean replies. He sighs slowly and there’s a dead look in his eyes. “It’s for the best.”

There’s a lot of things Reince wants to ask him – but the biggest among them is simply, “Why bother leaving?” There’s no response so he continues. “I mean, look, you’ve been publicly humiliated enough already, you didn’t even get to meet the Pope – why is _now_ the reason you’re leaving?”

Sean doesn’t say anything for a second, but as soon as he opens his mouth, Reince can tell it’s a scripted response, “Like I’ve been saying, the communications staff –”

“That’s fucking bull,” Reince snaps. He thinks he hears someone gasp – likely Sarah, listening in from her office. He doesn’t care though, he’s focused on Sean. “What the hell are you doing? If you wanted to, I don’t know, keep some dignity, then that time has come and gone. Who’s going to hire you, a known liar?”

And then, Sean laughs. He laughs right into Reince’s face with those dead eyes of his, slowly shaking his head. “Who’s going to hire _me_? A better question is, who’s going to hire _you_?” he points a finger into Reince’s chest. “You’re probably the weakest Chief of Staff to ever set foot in the White House. Hell, there were times where I was more powerful than you and I had to steal a fucking fridge.”

He pauses a second and goes back into his office, pulling something out of his desk and shoving it into Reince’s hands. “All our gods are dead, Reince,” he says. “We killed them.” He leaves him standing there, holding his rosary, and walks away.

Reince ends up watching the briefing in his office while he’s out, his feet propped up on the minifridge as he leans back in the chair. He can’t help but admit – really, it’s impossible not to – that Mooch is a much better speaker than Sean.

And Mooch knows it. The words he chooses to use about Sean, praising him in a way that, really, no one would think to and fuck, Reince knows what this really is. This is Mooch jerking off his new boss. This is him praising his new lord and master, his dear leader, a man whom he alternated so suddenly from criticism to praise. And, because his brain loves to torture him, he can’t help but imagine it – Mooch on his knees, his hands resting on his thighs as his mouth wraps around his dick and he’s looking up at him with those fucking eyes of his and he knows exactly how to get him off because that bastard’s obviously thought about it, about shoving Reince against a wall and –

Reince stops squeezing the rosary. He puts it in his pocket and exits the office with the TV still on. He needs to find Steve. He needs a fucking drink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“ _Brothers_?” Steve raises a brow.

“Shut up.” Reince takes the glass out of his hands and drains it in one go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reince doesn’t go into Mooch’s office. He doesn’t want to be alone with him – and no, it’s not because he can’t stop thinking about how he imagined fucking Mooch, or getting fucked by him, or whatever he imagined, he’s not thinking about it – because he doesn’t think he can stop himself from punching that fucking prick right in the face.

So instead, he stands right outside the door, trying to grab any aide that comes by, but none of them meet his eye when he tries to look at them. Hell, one of them actively ran away from him. Until finally, Hope comes by and yes, yes, yes, she’s living up to her name by looking up from her phone and looking his way.

“Hope,” he calls out. He steps over to her. “Hey, I need you to go into Mo – _Anthony’s_ office and tell him to talk to me.”

She gives him a long look, blinking once, before simply saying, “No.” And she walks away without another word. Reince thinks he’s going to explode when, out of the blue, he hears the door open behind him.

He spins around and sees Mooch there, arms crossed with those stupid fucking aviators still on, and Reince walks over to him. “You aren’t answering my messages,” he says.

“Really?” Mooch raises a brow and there’s that stupid smirk on his face. “I guess I haven’t checked my phone yet.”

Reince blinks. He really can’t believe it. “You didn’t check your phone,” he deadpans. “Jesus, Mooch, if you’re going to lie to my face, at least make it good.” He waves his hands. “Whatever. That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“What did you want to talk about?” Mooch asks. As if he doesn’t know.

“Stop saying you’re firing people,” Reince says. “You – you can’t fire anybody, you don’t have that power.”

Mooch doesn’t say anything for a moment. He holds his chin and taps the side of his cheek, pretending to be deep in thought. “You know,” he says, slowly, “I think I _do_ have that power, because there’s someone who gave it to me. Let me see if I can remember who it was… oh yeah…” He lowers his hands and smirks. “It was the President of the United States. So, I think I’m going to keep doing what I do, okay?”

He pats him on the arm as he walks away, and Reince just stands there for a couple of moments, dazed and confused. Shit. How could he forget, Mooch is reporting straight to the President and no matter what Reince might try to do, there’s no way he’s going to get anyone to go along with him anymore.

Fuck.

As a last-ditch effort, he heads over to Short’s office – maybe he can somehow save his job, which will somehow transfer over to his own job – but of course, of _fucking_ course, that’s where Mooch exits from and he flashes Reince a quick wink as he walks by.

Reince all but runs into the office. “Mike, he can’t fire you,” he says. “He’s not officially part of the admin yet, you can –”

“He didn’t fire me,” Short sighs. He gives him a grimace. “I resigned.” He stands up and walks past Reince, who’s stuck in the doorway, unable to move.

If he listens carefully, he can hear the sound of his legacy slipping away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Short wasn’t that good of a guy anyway,” Steve points out, leaning back in his chair.

Reince shakes his head and pours out another glass. “That’s not the point,” he says. “The point is that whatever happens next, it’s going to determine my fate.” He downs the glass in one go and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Steve watches him. “You know, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have even hired you.”

“I know,” Reince sighs. “I know.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The last straw is the fucking tweet. And it’s not even the tweet itself, really, but the fact that every single person on Twitter is convinced that it means Mooch is asking the FBI to investigate him. Whether or not this really _is_ the reason, no one knows, not even Reince because that son of a fucking bitch isn’t answering his damn phone.

 _What the fuck, Mooch?_ he types out and sends, waiting for a reply. When it doesn’t come, he tries again. _You better fucking answer me, or else._

He’s about to call Steve and get him to send Julia into that dinner, if it even is still going on – and, by the way, what the fuck are they doing, not inviting him to that dinner, seriously fuck Mooch, what the fuck is he doing, is he really actually trying to get him fired – when the door bursts open.

Mooch steps inside and slams the door behind him, marching up to the desk and standing over him. His face is flushed and he sounds already out of breath and fuck, he hasn’t even started screaming yet, but Reince can only imagine. “Or else _what_ , Prancer?” he huffs, right into his face. “You’re gonna fucking _leak_ something about me? _Again_?”

“Again?” Reince scoffs. He stands up too, until he’s eyelevel with him. He feels his knuckles clench and his nails dig into his palms, almost piercing the skin. “ _Again_? You know I _never_ leaked anything, you fucking prick.”

“Oh, calling me a prick, are you?” Mooch huffs. “That’s rich, coming from you – you’re a fucking cockblocker, bitch, and your time in this administration is _over_. You think you have any power here?” He laughs, high and cool and nerve-wracking, shaking his head. “Oh, Princess Penis, you’re in over your head. You’re gonna leave this White House with your dick cut off and no one will even remember who you are.”

Reince doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. Mooch is not making any fucking sense and oh Jesus Christ, why is he still fucking talking, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he can’t take it anymore, he needs him to shut the fuck up and –

And he grabs his face and kisses him. His fingers grip the back of his head and he bites down on his lower lip and he should be surprised when Mooch doesn’t push him away, when he grabs his collar and starts kissing back, but fuck, Reince doesn’t give a shit anymore.

If he’s going to get fucked by him, he might as well get _fucked_ by him.

The desk between them is problematic as they’re both trying to pull the other over, tugging on clothes or arms and struggling to lift them, but eventually Reince is able to get his feet on the back of his chair and finally swings his legs around. He feels Mooch start working on his belt, and he pulls apart for a brief moment.

“You know I fucking hate you, right?” he says, breathless. He’s not sure how he’s still breathing.

Mooch grins, lips flushed and face lined with sweat, and fucking Christ, Reince hates him so much, he cannot fucking stand him. “Why don’t you suck my fucking dick, huh?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Reince spits out. He reaches out and grips his crotch through his trousers and of course, of fucking _course_ the bastard is getting harder, of course. He watches his smirk widen as he presses against him.

“Oh, you’d love to see that, wouldn’t you?” Mooch hums, all sarcastic and sweet. He’s unzipping his pants and then he’s sliding his hand under his underwear and wrapping it around his dick. “Yeah, you’d love to see me on my knees and sucking my own dick, huh?” His motions are erratic but they’re not very rough, actually, and he’s kind of careful while his words express the exact opposite.

“I’d love to see you on your knees sucking _my_ dick,” Reince counters. Fuck, actually, that doesn’t sound all that impressive now that he says it aloud, but whatever, he shouldn’t focus on that. He doesn’t bother pulling off Mooch’s pants or anything like he did for him, instead just gripping him through the fabric and tugging on his cock.

Mooch starts to laugh and Reince fucking hates it, he uses his free hand to pull him in again. He misses his mouth the first couple of times, kissing the side of his jaw or the corner of his lips, until Mooch just gives up on it and leans his head down to graze his teeth on the nape of his neck. Reince thinks he feels blood and fuck, he wishes he could care about that right now.

“You’re fucking terrible,” he mumbles, swallowing down his moan when he feels Mooch moving faster, teasing the head and sliding down to his balls and fuck, it’s so hard to concentrate but he manages to keep tugging on him. He’s got his fingers on the back of his head and his nails dig into his scalp.

He can’t think. He doesn’t want to think. He bites down on his lower lip when he comes, head tilting back and eyes squeezing shut. Vaguely, he’s aware of Mooch biting down as his hips jerk against Reince’s hand, but he doesn’t care.

He just sort of breathes for a couple of seconds, and then opens his eyes. Mooch is still standing over him and Reince knows that the rush of endorphins should probably make him want to kiss him or something but fucking Christ in Hell, he just wants to punch the shit out of him.

“Well,” Mooch says, mouth quirking, “I guess you’re living up to your nickname, huh?” And he barks out a laugh as Reince pushes him away, wiping his mouth. Fuck, he doesn’t want to taste him. He’s just about got his dick back in his pants when, all of a sudden, without even so much as a knock, the door opens.

Hope sticks her head through and gives a cursory look around the room before her eyes land on Mooch. “The President’s been trying to reach you.”

“Oh, shit,” Mooch mumbles. He runs a hand through his hair and straightens out his pants. “Thanks, Hope.” He steps past her, out into the hallway, and then she looks right at Reince. She raises a singular brow.

Reince feels his face flush. “Uh, well…”

“You know, this is why I don’t respect you,” she says. “You have no backbone. None at all.” And she doesn’t even wait for him to try and defend himself when she turns around and leaves, door hanging wide open.

Well, that’s fine. He didn’t even have a comeback anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Uh, Reince,” Steve says, looking him over when he steps inside his office, “your pants are –”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He reaches around his desk and grabs a bottle of cheap whiskey, pulling off the cap and taking a long swig. “I absolutely do _not_ give a _fuck_.”

Steve just says, “Well, at least share the booze, if you’re drinking mine.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reince is already in his office when he sees Mooch on New Day, and he turns on the volume just in time to hear the Cain and Abel remarks. Oh, fucking hell.

Cain and Abel. Cain killed Abel because he was jealous of him – so shouldn’t Reince be Cain in this situation, and he kills Mooch? Or, is it some perverse retelling of the story where Abel, the brother favored by God, is the one to kill the cursed brother Cain?

It’s way too early in the morning for a one-sided theological conversation about a hypothetical scenario. He’s just about taken off his jacket and settled into his seat when he gets a phone call from, oddly enough, the New Yorker. He puts Mooch on mute. “Hello?”

After some preamble, the intern gets to the point. “I was wondering if I could get a comment from you about some things Mr. Scaramucci has said about you.”

“What things?” he says, frowning lightly.

“Um… Mr. Scaramucci called you a, quote, fucking paranoid schizophrenic, a paranoiac –”

Reince hangs up. He swears he feels a rock over him and he knows it’s going to bash his head in.


	2. Chapter 2

“He’s out.”

“Who’s out?”

“Who the fuck could I be talking about, Reince?”

“Oh my god, you mean... he’s out?”

“That’s what I just fucking said.”

“Jesus... I - how?”

“Well, the official story is that Kelly wanted a clean slate and shit, but my money is on the satanic ritual Sean held in his office late last night.”

“Steve...”

“You fucking laughed, don’t even.”

“Could you blame me? I mean, god... well I guess this is proof that he respects Kelly more than he did me.”

“That’s a fucking understatement. Did you see how the news fucks latched onto that story about how he called you in to kill a fly?”

“... You leaked that story, didn’t you?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Shut up, I know it was you.”

“You should be thanking me, you know.”

“Why the fuck would I thank you - you wanted me to lose my job.”

“Yeah, but I taught Sean that satanic ritual that got rid of Mooch so you’re welcome.”

“Jesus...”

“Come on, you know you love it.”

“You’re probably next to get the axe, you know? Kelly is a general, he doesn’t take kindly to insubordination.”

“Like you did?”

“Shut up.”

“Come by tonight. We’ll celebrate, talk about my future, hail Satan...”

“I’ll think about it. There’s something I have to do first.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“What the flying fuck do you want, Penis?”

“You don’t have to call me that anymore.”

“I can call you whatever the fuck I want, bitch. You can fuck right off.”

“I will, I will, I just want to say one last thing.”

“What?”

“Now that you’ve got some spare time, do you want pointers from Steve on how to suck your own cock?”

“Fuck you, Reince. Go to fucking hell.”

“I’ll see you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of a fucking era.
> 
> After today, I will have completely forgotten about all of these people. Mooch whom? Reince what? I don't know, I don't care.


End file.
